Back to the Start
by xbballbolin
Summary: In a desperate attempt to stop Hades from taking over the world, a next generation Once Upon a Timer must travel back before the war began and fight alongside all the OUAT characters we know and love.
1. Prelude: Back to the Start

**Attention!  
Stop and read before continuing!**

If you don't know what happened in the winter finale, probably best you don't read.

Inspired by Charmed and Chris traveling back in time… still love the storyline concept and potential of it after all these years.

This chapter is a little OC heavy but I promise we will be back in Storybrooke with all the characters we know and love before you know it!

_.- -" "- -._

(… .(_\\.../_)… )

{ _"...=-... }- - - - - -{.. .-=..."_}

Xbballbolin

presents

Back to the Start

A Once Upon A Time Fan-Fiction

{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

Prelude: Back to the Start

Though masked by many interpretations and religious beliefs, hell was often seen as a place of torture and suffering; more often than not it was also believed to be the afterlife but there was never a general consensus until now. Now anyone left breathing knows beyond a shadow of a doubt this is hell.

It all began with World War III, a war unlike its predecessors. Napalm and bullets were replaced with curses and spells. Things outside the realm of possibility, things dubbed works of fiction found in storybooks read to children, came out of the woodworks and tore the world asunder… war erupted and cities and landforms collapsed as the carnage of battle crippled nations and changed the landscape of civilization forever.

Hades rules all. His minions of the undead see to that, making what's left of humanity either bow down or join in the endless list of casualties… a list that the young pirate narrowly escaped a time or two. Yet he had. By some twist of fate- one which the rouge hadn't decided he was for or against- he was still breathing which was more than he could say for everyone he ever loved or cared for.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear their echoes through the rigging, the once happy ship filled with laughter and love long gone. All he had now was the memories and haunting echo of what once was. Magnificent baby blues that mirrored the Caribbean flickered open to the empty ship, his solitude solidified. He stood at the helm of the Jolly Roger, the once magnificent ship- like everything else in the world- had indeed seen better days. But the old girl still cut through the treacherous seas with a youthful rebellion. Her mast was like a fist upraised, challenging the waters to do their worst.

He liked to tell himself, that her spirit was the spirits of those he lost along the way: his sister's rebellion, his brother's determination, his uncle's mischief… but he knew that it was just his attempts to avoid the madness of being alone. In an attempt to pull himself from his musings, the young pirate pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of the distressed leather jacket that was once his father's and removed one, placed it between slightly chapped lips, and snapped his fingers magically creating a flame that seemed to emanate from his fingertip. He then proceeded with the other steps lighting the cigarette and took a long, deep drag allowing the smoke to permeate his lungs because it was only when smoke filled them that he felt alive.

Brilliant blue flickered down to the cigarette that sat between the cybernetic knuckles of his robotic hardware that composed the right arm. They trailed the length of the cigarette to the burning end glowing in a mix of orange, black, and grey. The burning paper and tobacco always seems to send him back to the battlefield.

 _The world around him was scorching in a fire and crumbling into particles of ash deteriorating before his very eyes. In history, the most memorable battles were mirroring David and Goliath. Small armies, outnumbered and outgunned fighting the good fight. But what the young pirate would soon realize was that they weren't remembered for victories, but for their fight to the finish spirit. As the Resistance took its final stand, it becomes more and more apparent that this is one of those battles. This was their Alamo._

 _Ashes fell like snow upon the battlefield- which wasn't a field but the ruins of the once towering grandeur that was New York City which is now a mere bloodstained backdrop. - and sprinkled over the young pirate as he slowly started to regain consciousness. It rolled over him like waves lapping against the shore. The piercing ring that had been present since he first began to stir slowly lifted replaced with the fearsome flap of demonic wings, the roars of raging fires, and most prominent the cries of his comrades as they fell like toy soldiers. A determination surges within him to rejoin the battle and his eyes forced themselves open. Immediately, they were assaulted by the horrors of battle: dead bodies strewn across the ruins of buildings, vehicles on fire, demons picking off what few fighters remained… but all those horrors paled in comparison to what he saw next._

 _Beside him was the leader of the Resistance, Henry Mills. He was leaning against the charred skeleton of a car, hot crimson life spilling out despite the leader's best attempts to stem the blood flow and he was as ashen grey as the falling cinders. But there was still life in his eyes and he was saying something. The young pirate shook the distant sounds and focused in on Henry._

" _Liam," the leader called, his strangled cries finally hitting the young pirate's ears. "Li."_

 _Liam tries to respond but a croak is all he could manage. He tries to reach for Henry, but he sees that he doesn't have much of a right arm left- just a series of disfiguring third degree burns. The immensity of the pain had finally caught up to him like falling asleep- slowly than all at once. The immensity of it was immeasurable but nothing was stronger than his loyalty to Henry or his need to save him. Using his uninjured arm, Liam clawed his way to Henry's side, his fingers digging into the rubble until he reached him._

" _I got you, little brother," Henry gurgled, the crimson bile in his throat slurring the words._

 _Even in the face of death, Henry showed no fear. Instead of pushing down onto his wound, Henry had his arm encircle Liam… a protective big brother until the end. Impossibly blue eyes widened at the sound that escapes Henry's lips. Not the groans. Not the gurgle of blood, but laughter. Even now in the shadow of death, Henry reminded Liam why so many followed him and why Liam would follow him even in death._

 _And this is how their story was supposed to end. Liam was supposed to die beside his brother._

 _But fate had other plans._

 _She had other plans._

 _Across the battlefield walked a stark contrast to the horrors surrounding. She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman that Liam had ever set sight on. She had a perfect halo of gold hair like lightning and she walked with an airiness that seemed angelic. At first he thought her to be an angel, a goddess sent to carry him and Henry to heaven… but something told him he wasn't entirely right. Despite the natural beauties beautiful characteristics, there was something unsettling just beneath her skin… something tragic just behind her eyes. Something that told young Liam Jones exactly who she was. She was his. She belonged to the devil._

 _Realizing that she was Persephone, the wife of Hades, Liam pulled himself closer to his brother, a growl of pain erupting from his lips. He wouldn't let her take Henry in the name of Hades. He would protect Henry just as his older brother had done for him his whole life._

" _You can't have him," Liam growled, his good hand leaving his brother's wound as he tried desperately to summon the magic within. But again his body betrayed him, too tired and far too weak to summon his powers._

 _She drew closer kneeling beside him, the coldness radiating from the blond stifling the air left in his lungs. Then she leaned in, soft lips capturing his. "He's not the one I want."_

"Those things'll kill you, Li," a sultry voice calls pulling him from the nightmarish memory.

He lets out a puff. Tendrils of tobacco smoke spill out of his mouth and disperse into the nighttime air as he looks up at the woman that saved him that fateful day, Persephone. Like a caged rabbit, she yearned to be free from beneath Hades oppressive thumb. She belonged in the forest. She shined. She craved the feel of her beloved forest floor beneath her feet. She longed to relish in the freedom that only nature could give and she thought she had finally had it when he rose to power. But he leaves destruction in his wake. The Earth turned black under his tread.

Those who say it's better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven didn't know the plight of Persephone.

But he did.

"Right, because in the end that's what'll kill me," Liam grumbled putting it out just the same.

Golden curls flashed across her face as the wind rips and whirls in the night. As she steps in the light, he swears her skin begins to glow. And immediately, his gaze switches down to his boots and doesn't waiver as if they have become the most fascinating thing in the world. He doesn't want to look up at Persephone because he knows exactly what will happen. He'll crave the touch of perfect porcelain skin, want to caress the apples of her cheeks that are stained red by roses. She'll bat her eyelashes- perfect black feathers fanning over gorgeous green orbs- and it will have an almost hypnotic effect. And those lips… those perfect, plump lips will be his ultimate downfall. He'll want to kiss them and pull his name from her mouth, pepper the letters across her jaw, the crook of her neck. Every sweet-nothing will spin in his ears, thread through his mind, and take over him.

And he's fallen prey to her charms one too many times. This time he needs to be thinking with the proper head. "Did you bring it, love?"

"Love? Very fitting in this scenario, don't 'cha think?" she teased. Oh the devilish games she played! For someone who wanted to be free of Hades, she sure liked to act like him. Dangling what he wanted in front of him with, his torture her glee. He doesn't speak prompting her to giggle with fiendish delight. "Oh come now, Liam. I have your precious totem of love."

His heart thundered so hard in his chest at the possibility, that it took everything in him to remain stoic as he looked at her and dived into their wicked game once more. They were constantly at war, chaotically challenging one another for control. The one who cared less held the cards, and the last thing he wanted to do was show his hand.

The most irritating of smirks, curled at the edge of her lips as she nonchalantly played with the shining jewel that adorned her ring finger. He quirked his eyebrow at the fact her typical over-lavish rock that adorned that finger was replaced by the ring he so desperately coveted. Crossing his arms over his chest, he drew near. Rugged boots clicking across the weathered boards of the ship until he's almost to the blonde goddess seated upon the gunwale of the ship. "Hmm… I must've missed the part where I proposed."

He wore a smirk turning up at the corner of his mouth that always seemed to appear onto his handsome visage followed by a smart remark. A rebuttal is on the tip of the blonde's tongue but is silenced by the shock of him stepping between her legs, the texture of his rough hands meeting her thighs. Her balance shifts slightly- her precarious perch nearly sending her down into the depths of the deep blue below- but catlike reflexes sent her legs wrapping around his waist to compensate and steady herself. His grip tightened enough to reel her back in, hands slipping from her thigh to her hips. It was ironic for them to be tangled up this way, him pulling her back from the brink of death as she had him that day.

"My hero," she whispers in his ear, her breath maddeningly hot on his skin. Wandering hands danced across his chest, wandering over his white waffle tee and dipping beneath his jacket.

"Fraid those are extinct," he muttered- a sadness in his voice that panged her heart- before crooking his neck so that slightly chapped lips could connect with her jawline and send them trailing down her jawline to her neck. Her hand slips up into his flaxen mane, her fingers weaving into his locks as he placed a single kiss upon her pulse. She was thankful he couldn't see the expression of raw desire on her face.

"Well, with this totem, we have a chance to rectify that," she coos, hardly able to recognize her own voice because it was low and throaty laced in desire.

But, something told Liam the desire in her voice was about more than him. When she pulled him from the battlefield, he knew it wasn't out of the goodness of her heart. She needed a soldier for her mission. To go back. To save the beauty of the world- or so she said. But he knew her to be a woman of ulterior motives, and he couldn't trust that's all she wanted.

"Sorry, love," he whispers, and Persephone stared in stupefied disbelief as he detangled himself from her… a dark look on his face she couldn't fathom until she subconsciously reached for him and found the movement restricted. Her eyes slipped down to the limb, horror filling her as she realized not only had the sneaky pirate stole the ring from her finger, but had shackled her wrist as well.

Disbelief quickly gives way to fury, coiling red hot in her gut. Through gritted teeth she growls as she begins to struggle against the restraint. "You bloody pirate!"

A barrage of cuss words escape the goddess's lips at Liam's betrayal but he pays he's too engrossed in the ring in his hand. It was the ring from his father's hand that he had to use as an engagement ring because the world had gone to hell in a handbasket and it was all he had. And Killian Jones and Emma Swan's love was the greatest love he'd ever known. She literally went to hell to bring him back… which was exactly what brought on the world's downfall. By opening the gates of hell she had freed Hades. How ironic was it that this ring was the final totem Liam needed for Zelena's spell so he could return to the past and stop Hades from ever taking over?

"Release me this instant!"

Liam looked up to the blonde throwing a tantrum and stomping her foot like a petulant child, clenching her fists with barley tampered rage, and demanding her release. But his response was laughter. A low growl of a chuckled spilt from his lips as he started tossing the ring up and down in his hand. He and won the battle, gotten his prize and all the pieces he needed to go back and stop the war before it starts.

As he turns to walk away he can hear her pulling tightly on her shackle attempting to break free again and shouting after him at the top of her lungs, "Get back here."

In a series of condensed flashes, he disappeared before her eyes.

He was already gone.

Going back to the start.

End of Prelude


	2. Chapter One: To Hell And Back

**Attention!** **  
** **Stop and read before continuing!**

I haven't seen anything past the winter finale.  
I'd originally created this dystopian society with Hades rule long before they explored that option in the show and had an entirely different idea of Hades and what the underworld was so I skipped over Killian's time in hell and went straight to his return.

So everything went according to plan. Emma and the family rescued him from the underworld by splitting her heart and bringing him back to life.

_.- -" "- -._

(… .(_\\.../_)… )

{ _"...=-... }- - - - - -{.. .-=..."_}

Xbballbolin

presents

Back to the Start

A Once Upon A Time Fan-Fiction

{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

Chapter One: To Hell And Back

[Storybrooke Present Day]

The sand gave weight beneath his hands and knees as he clawed his way to the shore of Storybrooke, his exhausting struggle intensified by the ebb and flow of waves battling the waterlogged wander. They pulled and pushed trying to bully him into surrender but his will was indomitable. Left, right, left, right, Liam moved fatigued limbs, bare feet pounding the spongy sand trying to propel himself forward. Each inch he took felt like a mile until it didn't. The resistance faded and the waves became weaker until he found himself laying in the remnants of a puddle and down on the damp beach able to catch his breath for the first time since landing in the year 2016.

He rolled onto his back and that was the first time since he was a boy, Liam saw the stars; heavenly bodies stringing across the nighttime sky shining and glittering in their cosmic glory. Each one was worth more than the diamond they'd reminded him of, each a tiny treasure that screamed to the young pirate that he had made it. And the beautiful stars not only declared that he had made it back in time- to a place where the natural beauty of the world wasn't replaced with hellfire and smog- but sent his mind to a moment in time he thought he'd forgotten.

The night always appealed to Liam even when he was just a pint-sized pirate. While the rest of the world slept, Liam would stand on his tippy-toes on the end of his bed so he could see out the porthole and watch the natural beauty outside. Most people loved the cool blues of the Caribbean in the daylight but it was the night that appealed to him. It became reflective and the stars and moonlight would reflect. He'd stare out until his toes couldn't take it, or his mother would catch him and tuck him back in.

His mother.

Returning to the past unlocked his first memory of his mother untainted by Hades. It became so strong that he could practically feel her lips on his forehead, and hear her whisper, 'goodnight kiddo'. How ironic was it that now he was as close to her as he could possibly be but also so far away. There was no telling Emma and Killian that he was their son- not that he wanted to- no jeopardizing his birth. In fact, Persephone had made it a point to tell him that he shouldn't tell anyone who he was and keep details of the future close to the vest, but Liam knew he couldn't do this on his own.

He needed help.

xXx

Emma Swan had been many things in her life: an orphan, a daughter, a mother, a savior, the dark one, but never a fool. She knew the traumatic experiences Killian had faced in the Underworld would take their toll on him, but she never imagined how extensively. Sure, he still had his roguish good looks and charms but there was an effort behind his laughter and smile that screamed to her it was an act. He put on a brave face for those who went to rescue him- eternally grateful for the lengths they went that he didn't want them to know the damage that'd already been done before they got there.

 _Everything's fine, love._ It had almost become a catchphrase, an automated response that he'd keep saying until she believed it. Or maybe he was trying to convince himself. Whatever the case, neither was convinced in the face of the ticks he let slip during the day and nightmares that ravaged his soul during the night. Even tonight, weeks after their return, Killian woke with a burn in his lungs and the hot taste of ash peppering his tongue.

His body cried out that he was back in that hell and lurched off the bed as if it were made of magma. He was out of bed before his mind could catch up, his hookless hand patting across his chest and arms in an attempt to extinguish imaginary flames. His lungs burned and coughing fits erupted as he felt himself suffocating. Finally his mind caught up and he realized the room around him wasn't on fire. Frantic eyes darted in every direction trying to convince his body and soul that he wasn't still down there but it wasn't until they settled upon his angel that he was able to breathe again.

The frenzy that'd occurred had awoken his sleeping beauty and she was now sitting upright in their bed, waiting patiently for him to gather his bearings. God, how he hated to see her look at him like that. So patient, and kind, and understanding… everything he didn't want her to have to be. Catching his breath, he made his way back over to her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Go back to bed, love," he cooed with the intention of turning to walk away but she quickly reached forward grabbing him by the forearm and reeling him back in.

"I assume we're still pretending everything is fine then?" she asks beneath her breath. It'd just kind of bubbled out but patience had never been the blonde's strong suit. She looked down at the fingers on his hand and traced where the jewels usually occupied, a nervousness that she'd push him even farther away tearing at her insides. But she missed him. She missed them.

He pulled his hand away and for the briefest of moments she thought her fear had been confirmed but an index finger and his thumb gently took her by the chin guiding her gaze back up to meet his. And for the first time since they got back, Killian remembered he didn't just survive hell but he made it back to his heaven. "'M sorry, Emma. I just need some time."

It was the first admission that it was not fine and for right now that was enough.

"Okay, just know I'm here," she said pulling him down into a tender kiss.

"Aye," he agreed, his facial hair gently brushing her lips as he pulls away just enough to move his lips, letting out a few more words before pulling her down onto the bed with him. "And thank God for that."

xXx

For as long as he could remember, Henry loved reading. Even before he knew how to define letters, string them into syllables, and craft them to create words, he was infatuated with the transcendence of a story, the way it spoke to his imagination and let him wander beyond his limitations. Yes books were a gate into a world unseen, a solace, a safe sanctuary he could retreat into.

Then, his teacher gave him a book. An innocent enough of an act. But it was in that act that everything changed. He read the book from cover to cover and it opened his eyes to a world just beneath their noses. The world safely locked away in the pages of a book and his imagination, was actually reality. He was the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming. Fairytales were real. How many children have longed for the characters in the book to exist?

Action. Adventure. Heroes. Villains.

His wildest dreams became a reality. But as they faced villain after villain, Henry realized why they say be careful what you wish for. He often found himself helpless against the forces of evil. He wasn't a warrior, he didn't possess magic. He, more often than not, was used as a pawn in some villains plan.

And he hated it. He hated feeling like an outsider. He wanted to be the hero of his tales, not some minor character. Then he realized why he couldn't be the hero he wanted to be. Because he wasn't a character. He was a creator. All the time he'd spent with his nose in a book was just preparation for writing his own.

The pen was truly mightier than the sword.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be skilled with both.

Beneath the veil of night, Henry found himself sneaking out to a secluded spot on the edge of the woods where he had created a makeshift archery range. He'd been at it for the better part of the night and knew that he'd now entered the darkest hours before dawn. If he didn't want to be busted, he needed to return to bed and convinced himself just one more.

Attaching his arrow to the nocking point of the string, Henry pulled his elbow back until his fingers slightly brushed his lips. Hazel eyes that seemed to be chameleon in nature, constantly changing and taking on the hue of his surroundings, zeroed in on his target. Then as he exhaled, fingers released the sharpened dart from its precarious holding position.

There was no doubt in the young prince's mind that the arrow was going to hit its target. That's what he loved about the arrow. When your shot was accurate, you felt it on course the moment you release it. But before it could sail through the air and embed itself in the target, a materializing metallic hand reached out and captured the speeding arrow by the shaft mere centimeters before his eye.

Shock filled Henry's features as he stumbled back, his fight or flight reflexes being fueled by history. Villains always showed up one after the next and the term stranger danger rang true with every unfamiliar face. Yet before he could get anywhere, he found himself unable. It was as if his feet had been cemented to the floor. Beautiful brown orbs glared down at the floor, fear pulsating within.

With his flight reaction disabled the only thing left to do was fight. Dexterous fingers pulled the arrow from his quiver and readied another shot. Yet before he could shoot, the stranger disappeared again only to reappear before him and yanked the bow and arrow from his hands.

"Easy, brother. It'd be a shame for me to have traveled back just to be snuffed out by me own flesh 'n blood."

All Henry could let out was a bewildered, "What?"

"You heard me. My names Liam Jones. I'm your younger brother and I've come a helluva' long way to stop Hades reign on Earth. And I need your help."

Villains had taken some colorful approaches in the past but this would've been a new one. But denying his lineage seemed futile- his features the perfect combination of his mother and father. He had his mother's chin indentation barely visible beneath the stubbly scruff that resembled his father's-minus the color. It and his hair was blonde like is mothers. He'd also inherited her dimples and ears. The rest of him was all Killian down to the lack of a left hand. Okay, that wasn't a natural occurrence, but a similarity that created a connection in his mind none the less. Sure looks could be deceiving but there was an imprint Henry couldn't deny, a distinct impression in him of a warrior that had seen a hell that nobody here could understand… a haunting impression immortalized within him.

"If what you're saying is true, then why not go to our mom or grandma and grandpa?" Henry questioned and it panged Liam's heart to see his hero uncertain. The Henry before him wasn't the man he knew but one day he could be.

"Because I don't trust them," Liam starts, the harshness of his words peeking his brother's interest. Then he quickly added, "Not like I trust you."

And something about the way he spoke made Henry respond despite logic, "Whataya' have in mind?"


End file.
